


Nature vs Nurture

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: How much is training?





	Nature vs Nurture

She’s bone-tired when she gets back to her room, but she sees Kylo got there ahead of her. Phasma never asked if his clearance actually allowed him into her room, or if he’d either broken his way in, or added the privileges for himself. It’s better to be blissfully ignorant about some things, such as whether or not her General could walk in on her at any moment. (Even if he _wouldn’t_. Unless he had a damn good reason to.)

Her quarters aren’t as luxurious (read: spacious) as his, but they’re big enough for two people. He’s sitting sprawled over the bed, his fingers twirling loops in his hair as he examines his datapad, and he smiles up at her when she enters. 

“You’re later than I expected.”  


“Long debrief,” she explains, pulling her helmet and gloves off.   


Kylo asks with his eyes if she wants help, but she shakes her head. She just wants to get out of the armour, and into bed. She’s been awake so long her eyes are like Jakku roses, and there’s that metallic sheen to her thoughts that says she’s burning through her energy reserves. 

When she’s down to just her underclothes, she pauses by the side of the bed.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to see him, it’s that she’s not sure she’s got the energy for anything… intense. And she doesn’t want him to feel like–

“Do you want to cuddle?” he asks.  


Once upon a time, she would have thought that word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary. Kylo Ren, Knight and commander, was all ragged edges and fury. He wasn’t bouncy hair and a proud nose and a mischievous smile. 

Now, she knows better. A swell of gratitude, and she watches him get up to pull the covers back for them both, and then there’s a moment of re-arranging limbs. Phasma takes the soft kiss as their knees bend to touch, and the heavy weight of his arm on her waist is… anchoring. Grounding. _Nice_.

“I’m not on duty until after you, so I can stay as long as you’d like me to,” he says.  


“As long as you don’t object to a lot of it being me asleep, I’d be happy to see you here all night.”  


“Then I’m staying,” he replies, his fingers feathering around the shell of her ear.   


Slow. Thudding. Heartbeats. Her eyes shut, and she doesn’t once fear for her safety. Not in his arms, not on his watch.

“How was the mission?”  


“Good. Some ex-Imperial families. Ones who wandered a bit too far. Reminding them of what’s worth fighting for.”  


“To bring them back in?”  


“Children,” she corrects him. “To send their children to us.”  


It is always a difficult topic for him, which is why she usually avoids it. Phasma isn’t sure why he’s got such a problem: everyone trains their young. That’s just what you do, if you want them to grow strong, and to survive. 

“That was…?”  


He trails, letting her fill in the blanks. She nods, just once. “Yes.”

“And you… didn’t feel… you _don’t_ feel like you missed anything?”  


“No. Childish games are for children.”  


“You _were_ one, once.”  


“Only out of necessity. I… understand play can be a way for some infants to learn, but I was… I enjoyed working towards a goal, and for a cause.”   


Silence, and he doodles concentric circles on her hip, above the line of her panties. It’s soothing, and hypnotic. Her eyes ache less when they are shut.

“But… didn’t you know what you were missing, at the time?”  


“No.”  


“And… if you could do it over, would–”  


“I wouldn’t be _me_ , if I was brought up differently.”  


Kylo’s hand stills as he works through the truth of her statement. “You… would.”

“I would be a different me. This me wouldn’t exist. You’re asking me to wish I didn’t exist.”  


A tickle of his breath over her face, his chuckle rueful. “I suppose. I just… wish you’d been happy.”

“I was. And I am. And I will be.” But she’s beginning to wonder if this isn’t more than a little transference: his wishes for a different infancy, projected onto her. “It’s pointless to speculate. Don’t you like who I am?”  


“Yes. But I can still wish you’d been… happier.”  


“I wasn’t unhappy,” she insists, and kisses the tip of his nose. “But it’s kind of you to think I was.”  


The conversation lulls, then, and she feels herself drifting. His fingers still touch her, and she wonders… what, precisely, was so great that she missed out on? His childhood was so ‘great’ he ran away from home. What is it he thinks she missed?

She’s too tired to ask today. Maybe another day she’ll ask him. She wonders if he even knows. 


End file.
